


Walls

by infamousplot



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Gen, Misanthropic Outlooks, Rating might be a bit much but I would rather be safe than sorry, References to Depression, Self-Harm, non-traditional self-harm, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26626243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infamousplot/pseuds/infamousplot
Summary: The tram arrives every day at 5:30. In the bowels of the city, masses force their way into the shuttle. Joshua eases his way between them, navigating suits and briefcases and school bags. He is in the UG because he does not like to feel a million sweaty bodies pressed against his at the same time. Instead he hears their sweaty thoughts filtering into his brain: thousands of unwanted words and images assaulting his mind, all fighting for his attention, when all he wants is to block them out- he tries to find Shibuya’s song, but it’s hiding somewhere underneath the dirty filthy nasty thoughts, so he sings to himself instead.He hums his little tune while looking for a seat- he is in the first car, of course, because it makes for the longest ride- and he’ll be able to hear the Wall.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Walls

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning(s): this fic depicts a character intentionally and willfully subjecting himself to extreme sensory overload and pain because he knows it can't kill him, acting out of a desire to feel something. If anything about this feels like it could be disturbing, triggering, or otherwise upsetting, please take caution and proceed at your own discretion if you choose to read.

The tram arrives every day at 5:30. In the bowels of the city, masses force their way into the shuttle. Joshua eases his way between them, navigating suits and briefcases and school bags. He is in the UG because he does not like to feel a million sweaty bodies pressed against his at the same time. Instead he hears their sweaty thoughts filtering into his brain: thousands of unwanted words and images assaulting his mind, all fighting for his attention, when all he wants is to _block them out-_

He tries to find Shibuya’s song, but it’s hiding somewhere underneath all of the dirty filthy nasty thoughts, so he sings to himself instead (the theme song to _Tin Pin Slammurai_ , of course, because it’s an earworm and the best brand of brain bleach he knows).

He hums his little tune while looking for a seat. He is in the first car, of course, because it makes for the longest ride- and he’ll be able to hear the wall. In the corners there are children, returning from school, backpacks in their laps and phones against their ears. Their thoughts are everywhere- quadratic formula here, prose in literature there, does he really like me? buried over there. Joshua hops from one to another, not taking any of it in. He recites another verse of the theme song in his head, then out loud because he’s dead and no one can hear him. The tram rumbles to a start and they glide away as he alternates between humming and singing.

Everywhere he looks people are preoccupied. Some with their phones, others with books, but most with empty space. Joshua can never stop finding it strange. They are all so close, most of them even touching, yet they are islands, completely isolated from one another. Their thoughts are all on different waves, lost to each other but caught up by him.

He could crack them all open and pour out their lives: their childhood memories, their deepest fears, the secrets they would die to protect. Things they hold so near and dear, things that make them who they are- Joshua can take one look and know everything he needs to know in only a minute. He knows exactly which words can destroy them, what image to Imprint to ruin their day. He could make their lives a living Hell… but what would be the point? They’re already there, most of them. And no matter how deep Joshua digs he cannot find a single one worth his time.

There is a dull buzzing in the distance, a dangerous drone growing louder with each second, and from behind it Joshua can hear the faintest little melody: a familiar song, but not one he cares for. The Music of neighboring districts tends not to appeal to a Composer, lest their own city become jealous. Joshua mentally pats Shibuya on its metaphorical head as the district line approaches, fast, fast, faster.

 _The world is made up of pieces, and those pieces are made of littler pieces, and so on and so forth. The Composer makes the walls inside their district like the Angels make the walls inside theirs._ And in the UG, the Composer can’t pass through an Angel’s wall.

Joshua braces himself, opening his mind and letting everything pour in just as the nose of the shuttle dips through the boundary-

The wall hits, hard, and he explodes. Crackling hot burning _pain_ shoots through his skin and flies up his wings, strangling and thrashing at his Noise. Everything is color, everything is Music- phones and thoughts and blurry faces, clothing, eyes. The world tears by as he is pushed out one car and in the next, phasing through walls, through people, through space.

It’s a sensory overload. There is pain, and there are colors, colors like he’s never seen, and there are so many sounds mixing together into a symphony _beautiful disgusting incredible grotesque_ that cannot be replicated _not even by those snotty Angels not even by Mr. H_. The world is flying by in broken snippets, blurring into a mural of sound and sight, intangible and surreal _and he finally understands art, Sanae, he finally understands the paint on the walls and the streets and he wants to_ be _art he wants to feel the messages coursing through him he wants to feel_ something, _anything, to hit the wall and_ splatter

The last car zips through the wall and the border launches him, hard, fast. He hits the tracks, pain exploding in his head _real pain something pain anything pain_ as he rolls. His wings are stiff and his Noise is limping in the shadows but they still curl around him, protective, following the instincts that their master seems to lack.

Metal bruises his skin and he’s still crackling, still burning, staticking painfully across the tracks but he will be okay. He is God and God is always okay (even when He is not). Tears sting his face but he is smiling and laughing, not despite but _because_ of the pain, _because_ it hurts. Because it is real. Even in death pain is still real. And it’s the only thing he can feel.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrow can you tell I wrote this fic back in high school???
> 
> I'm not entirely sure what to say here or how to describe the making of this fic. I guess I've always kind of imagine Joshua as the type to put himself into dangerous or harmful situations because he doesn't really care about dying/getting erased. I imagine this taking place somewhere in the middle of his reign as Composer: he's been at it for awhile and the appeal of it has started to fade a bit, he's started to realize that becoming Composer wasn't the solution to his problems in life the way he imagined it would be and is feeling trapped like he did when he was alive, and now is starting to act out and try to find ways to feel something. 
> 
> This is kind of a personal piece, Joshua has always been a character I've used to explore darker things and cope with depression and negative thoughts, and while I have a difficult time judging how heavy this fic is due to my own personal feelings and memories wrapped up in it, hopefully it's an okay read. Thank you for your time if you did decide to read it <3


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